Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Robert Creeley's poem "The Kind Act Of" explores the nuanced dynamics of trust, vulnerability, and the complex intersection of self-surrender with the nature of authority. With his minimalist style, Creeley delves into the layered experience of "giving oneself" over to another person—in this case, a "dentist or doctor"—and what this act of surrender implies about human need, mind control, and morality. Through deceptively simple language, the poem raises questions about autonomy, the nature of care, and the paradoxical interplay between self-giving and self-preservation.

The opening line, "Giving oneself to the dentist or doctor who is a good one," immediately situates the reader in a position of vulnerability, where one yields control to a figure of authority and expertise. The phrase "who is a good one" hints at a sense of selection or discernment, implying that not every dentist or doctor is deserving of this trust. There’s a tension here between the need to relinquish control and the careful choice of whom to trust. In highlighting the distinction of a "good one," Creeley underscores that the act of surrender requires faith not only in the person but in their ethical intentions and competence.

This initial surrender—"to take the complete / possession of mind"—indicates a profound level of trust. When in the hands of a medical professional, especially one who has the power to alter physical states through anesthetics or other methods, an individual’s autonomy is effectively suspended. This "complete possession of mind" reflects a temporary forfeiture of one’s mental and physical control, surrendering to the care and judgment of another. The phrase suggests an act of dispossession, as if in giving oneself over to the other, the self is momentarily erased or overruled. There’s an inherent risk and vulnerability in this surrender, which goes beyond physical trust and enters the realm of mental and emotional exposure.

The following line, "there is no / giving," introduces a paradox by negating the notion of self-surrender as an act of "giving." Creeley implies that true "giving" involves a conscious choice and agency, while this kind of surrender feels more like an abdication or a passive acquiescence. In trusting another with one's body and mind, there is an implied lack of agency; it’s not an active "giving" but rather a necessary acquiescence. This subtle distinction suggests a critique of how individuals must sometimes surrender their autonomy not out of desire or choice but out of dependence on those with specialized skills and knowledge.

Creeley continues, "The mind / beside the act of any dispossession / is lecherous." This line shifts the focus from physical surrender to a deeper reflection on the nature of the mind itself. To describe the mind as "lecherous" alongside the idea of dispossession is provocative. The word "lecherous" typically connotes lust or an insatiable desire, often in a morally questionable sense. Here, it suggests that even in the act of surrender, the mind retains a kind of insatiable, grasping quality—a desire for control, understanding, or dominance. The mind's lecherousness may indicate a lingering resistance to complete surrender, as if there’s a part of the self that clings to autonomy, refusing to be entirely subdued. This portrayal of the mind introduces an element of moral ambiguity, as if the very desire to retain some control or self-interest taints the purity of surrender.

The poem concludes with the line, "There is no more giving in / when there is no more sin," which brings the ideas of morality and self-sacrifice into sharper focus. The notion that "giving in" becomes obsolete "when there is no more sin" suggests that the act of surrender, trust, or yielding to another is inherently tied to a moral framework. Sin here could represent any transgression or moral failing that requires penitence, humility, or submission. In a world devoid of sin or wrongdoing, there would be no need for acts of submission, as there would be no struggle between right and wrong, or self and other. This line raises questions about whether acts of trust or surrender are, in some way, moral responses to an imperfect world—an acknowledgment of the limitations of individual power or knowledge, which necessitates yielding to others.

Structurally, "The Kind Act Of" employs Creeley’s characteristic enjambment and sparse, unembellished language. Each line is broken to emphasize individual phrases, compelling the reader to consider the weight of each word in relation to the next. The lack of punctuation creates a fluid, almost disjointed reading experience, mirroring the fragmented and uncertain nature of the experience being described. The poem’s form underscores the tension between coherence and fragmentation, just as the speaker grapples with the contradictory feelings of trust and resistance, submission and self-assertion.

Through "The Kind Act Of," Creeley reflects on the inherent complexities of surrendering oneself to another’s care or authority. The poem suggests that even in moments of trust, there is a residual desire for autonomy that resists full dispossession. By framing this experience in terms of "sin" and "giving," Creeley explores how moral and psychological forces shape human interactions, especially those that involve vulnerability. In doing so, he invites readers to question the boundaries of trust and control, the paradoxes within self-surrender, and the ways in which even the most "kind" acts are complicated by the persistent presence of individual will.

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